In the Foxhole
by Inusagi
Summary: "Way back, back when war was muddy and personal, you always had one guy with you, one guy who had your back when things got rough. One guy who trusted you to do the same." Rated M for reasons.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood.

Brief author's note: This story is in six chapters. The chapters are in varying lengths, but I'm satisfied with how it's split up. Thank you for reading!

~.~.~

When Ianto was sixteen, he'd gone on holiday to France with his girlfriend's family. The little cottage they'd stayed in was in the middle of nowhere, which his girlfriend had assured him only added to the romantic ambiance. He'd been desperate to get a leg over at the time, so he did everything he could to play up the romance.

He'd set up a little picnic on a riverbank, where they could lounge and snog and watch the squirrels chase each other from tree to tree. A pair of beavers was fidgeting with their dam. Ianto was so completely fascinated by the beavers—he'd never seen one before—that he'd completely forgotten the wine he'd brought along so he could get his hand up Marcia's skirt.

There was a small hole in the dam that the little creatures didn't seem aware of. It was just a trickle, at first—barely even noticeable in the grand scheme of things. But the pressure built as Ianto watched, letting a more water through. The spray knocked something loose. Just a twig, then two, then a bundle. The flow of the river was insistent, pushing and pushing until the whole thing just exploded in a muddy wave.

That was how Ianto felt now. He'd only been at Torchwood Three for a fortnight, but he felt as though he was already losing twigs.

It would have been a difficult transition no matter the circumstances. He'd been an over-glorified paper pusher in London. His main job had been typing up budgets and expense reports that had been sent down from on high. Now...well, when he'd rattled off roles he could fulfil in the Hub, he hadn't meant all of them at once.

It wasn't just the job, though.

There was Lisa. Poor, suffering Lisa. He'd finally gotten her deposited in the Hub and hooked her up to a more reliable power source, proper monitors. There wasn't much he could do for her. The life support unit kept her breathing and he nicked bags of saline and nutrient solution, plus the odd bag of blood, directly from Doctor Harper now. All it left, really, was the pain.

No matter how much morphine he begged, borrowed or stole, he always ran out.

The specialist, Tanizaki, was proving to be…well, less than ideal. He was constantly insisting they come to him, completely ignoring little things like logic. There was _no way_ all that metal and technology would get through customs, even if Lisa was well enough to travel.

Ianto would keep on it, of course, but he feared Lisa wouldn't last long enough. As it was, there were times that she…wasn't quite herself. He was more terrified during those episodes than he'd been in his entire life, even more than he was when the Captain would usher him out of the Hub at night. Most nights he didn't even try to get back out to his mam's place out in Pentyrch, where he was staying. He just kipped in the backseat of his Audi and crept down to the communal showers before anyone arrived the next morning. He was afraid to be too far away. Just in case.

Fear was a constant now. He simply wasn't built for the type of deception and stealth that he had to employ now. Hell, he hadn't even been able to properly nick that Mars Bar when he was fourteen, and the shopkeeper was half blind and senile.

He wondered, while dropping of a cup of strong coffee for Captain Harkness, if he'd have a heart attack before he was able to save Lisa.

Then he cursed himself for being melodramatic.

"Have a seat, Ianto," the Captain said after taking a sip of his coffee. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

His heart stopped beating and tried to beat out of his chest all at once. This was it, he'd been found out.

He sat anyway, struggling to keep his expression passive.

"How are you settling in with us?"

Ianto took a deep breath and hoped his anxiety wasn't too obvious. If Harkness knew something, everything was going to hell anyway. If Harkness _didn't_ know something, odd behaviour would certainly clue him in. "Well, I think, sir."

Captain Harkness leaned forward on his desk, resting his elbows on the blotter. His voice was low and soothing. "The thing is, Ianto, you don't _look_ well. Don't get me wrong, you're doing a great job. I don't think this place has ever run so smoothly, vanishing cat notwithstanding. But _you_, kiddo, look like shit."

He quirked his eyebrow, even though he knew his boss was right. He'd noticed himself just that morning, when he'd seen himself in the fluorescent lights of his mam's lav. The lighting at the Hub was much more forgiving. Or so he'd thought.

"Your reputation as a smooth-talker is certainly preserved, Captain."

Harkness laughed, a rich, hearty sound that filled the room. "I'm just trying to look out for you. This is a rough job and you're young. Lots of responsibility and lots of stress. I don't wanna see it consume you."

Ianto shifted awkwardly. "I appreciate your concern, sir, but I reckon I can manage."

The other man took a long drink of his coffee and gave him a steady look. "Do you know what a foxhole buddy is, Ianto?"

The non sequitur threw him. He shook his head.

"Way back, back when war was muddy and _personal_, you always had one guy with you, one guy who had your back when things got rough. One guy who trusted you to do the same."

Ianto sat in silence, both fascinated and hoping that his boss would get to the point soon. He had no idea what the Captain was trying to say and Lisa was due for another dose of morphine soon.

"You can imagine, can't you? How stressful such a life must have been. Risking life and limb every day, cold and miserable and far from home. Your buddy was just that, your buddy. He became you best friend. Half the time, your life was in his hands, so spilling your guts didn't seem like such a big deal."

He took another drink of coffee and continued. "Sometimes, the problem wasn't that the Germans were trying to kill you all day. Sometimes you were just lonely and missing the girl you left back home."

Oh. _Oh!_

"So, maybe your buddy would, ah, lend a hand, as it were. No shame, no romantic notions, no talking. Just another example of your buddy having your back, to keep the stress and the loneliness from filling you up."

Ianto was horrified. His boss, his _male boss_, was propositioning him. Lisa was practically right below them, probably in pain, and there was a man, albeit a handsome one, asking him for sex.

"Sir, I'm not—not—"

"I didn't say you are or you aren't," Harkness cut in. "I'm not trying to be your boyfriend, and this isn't in your job description. I just wanted you to know that if it's ever something you think you need…Well, you're aware of it now."

Ianto thanked him for his concern, gathered the empty coffee mugs and fled the office as fast as he could.

~.~.~

Unnecessarily long Author's Notes: The whole "hunting beavers to extinction" thing that had happened in the UK (and most of Europe—what the hell, guys? What did beavers ever do to you?!) really threw a wrench into my metaphor, but apparently, while France was equally beaver-murder-happy, a population survived on the Rhône, near Lyon. So. Yes. Ianto's trip to France was entirely fabricated to make the dam thing work. The good news is that the UK has reintroduced beavers! Yay!

The missing cat thing was from one of the books, _Almost Perfect_. Apparently, TW had a pet cat named Yvonne (I imagine the name was some sort of dig at Director Hartman) that went missing soon after Ianto started. The book says Jack had Ianto check through pterodactyl faeces for weeks to check. Ha-ha.

Pentyrch is a suburb of Cardiff. It's located to the west.

Foxhole buddies is an actual military term, although it's gone out of style, along with, you know, foxholes. The more…intimate applications of it were not something that _everyone_ did, by any means, but the euphemism has developed from soldiers talking about their own experiences. If you didn't know, foxholes are a type of defensive fighting position that included digging yourself a hole and taking cover there.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: As always, I don't own anything you recognize.

~.~.~

It started with an aching, clawing pressure in his stomach and a nagging feeling that he was missing something, that somewhere along the line, he'd forgotten to do something important.

At first, Ianto had thought he'd forgotten to switch over Lisa's fluids or missed a dose of the new sedative they were testing out, but he'd checked in on her.

Twice.

Then Captain Harkness had practically pushed him through the cog door with the usual you _work too hard_ and _Jesus, you're pale. Eat a Brussels sprout or something_. His mam had phoned his mobile earlier with the standard _why did you move home if I still never see you?_ guilt trip, so he reckoned that, for the first time in nearly a week, he'd actually go home to sleep in his own bed.

But the pressure had morphed to churning panic the closer he was to the tourist office. Ianto reminded himself, over and over, that everything was fine. Paperwork was filed. Lisa was sleeping. The pterodactyl had its—her?—mutton. There was a nice, warm bed waiting for him.

Everything was as well as it had been since London.

But it _felt_ like the world was crashing down.

His chest ached, then pounded as he approached the door leading out to the Quay. Every breath he pulled into his lungs felt like dozens of white-hot pins. His vision blurred, his palms were sweating. He only had one simple, consuming thought.

_Go back, go back, go back. _

Ianto felt as though he'd die if he moved from where he was leaning against the cool metal door, but managed to put one foot in front of the other.

He stumbled past the desk and groped for the button hidden behind it.

The fogginess in that had covered his senses lifted.

He slid through the door as soon as there was enough space for him to squeeze through.

His jagged, painful breathing calmed.

He made his way through the damp corridors, the _tap tap_ of his step beating a soothing rhythm on the concrete.

The horrible tightening in his chest eased.

By the time Ianto made it back to the cog door, his episode—or _whatever the hell that had been_—was over, leaving an empty exhaustion that settled on him like a wet cloak.

Inside, Captain Harkness was lounging on the ratty old sofa he swore was "vintage." He'd shed the blue button-down he'd worn during the day, leaving a white undershirt that made his skin look almost bronzed. His grey braces lay limply at his sides.

His brow furrowed when he saw Ianto. "I coulda sworn I sent you packing for the night."

Ianto didn't know what to say. He had no valid reason for staying and he wasn't about to tell the truth. _Yeah, boss, you did. But then I had a nervous breakdown when I tried to open the door, so I figured I'd crash here. On the couch you're laying on. No worries, though, I'll set up a camp bed down in the darkest recesses of your Hub, where I've got my ill and semi-metallic girlfriend stashed away. _

That'd go down a treat.

"I...er...fancied a cup of coffee first. It's a bit cold out this evening," he lied.

He shuffled to the kitchenette before the Captain could reply. He was half-afraid that his calm butler mask was so thoroughly shattered that his secrets would be written all over his face.

Ianto's hands fiddled with the coffee maker on autopilot. His fingers still trembled slightly and he mused that the last thing in the world he needed in that moment was more caffeine, but Captain Harkness would be expecting a cup now.

He filled his own black cup and set about filling the other man's blue-and-white striped mug. Half cream, half coffee. Three sugars. It was practically blasphemy, to add that much rubbish to his perfect coffee, but there was no accounting for taste. Ianto didn't fancy his boss's dental bills, either, with that much sugar every day.

With a final stir and a steadying breath, he carried his tray back to the hideous sofa. Harkness gave him a winning, toothy smile and enthusiastic thanks. Ianto settled down next to him and they drank their coffee in companionable silence.

It struck him how long it'd had been since he'd simply...sat with someone, just existed in the same space. Not since London, at least, when he'd sit on the lumpy armchair to read because Lisa would stretch out and take up the whole sofa to watch _Strictly Come Dancing_.

The time he'd spent with her since was mostly taken up by checking the equipment and the medication while she slept. Or cried.

He missed it. He missed Lisa, of course, but this feeling, too. He missed feeling like he wasn't so damn _alone_ and isolated. He missed just talking about things that weren't aliens or dinosaurs. He missed being touched.

Ianto looked over at his boss and wondered if it would really be so bad to take his boss up on the offer he'd made a fortnight ago. He didn't fancy men, not really, but Harkness _was_ handsome and it wasn't about that, anyway. _To keep the stress and the loneliness from filling you up_, he'd said.

And that's what was happening. The stress was burying him, giving him ulcers and panic attacks. The loneliness...well, he'd had a fulfilling, loving relationship with Lisa before everything had gone to hell and he was starting to feel like he'd never been loved in all his life.

He wondered what Lisa would think, if she'd be angry. He wanted to think that she'd understand and told himself it couldn't really be cheating if he didn't actually feel anything for the other person.

And he didn't. He liked Harkness well enough, but even if he did start being...er...interested in men, the Captain wouldn't be the type he'd be interested in. Too flashy, too adrenalin-addicted.

Even if he did smell good. Really, really good.

"Sir," he started, sounding shaky even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. "I was thinking about the conversation we had in your office..."

He'd expected Harkness to leer or tease—something wholly inappropriate. He didn't expect the steady, serious way those blue eyes pinned him to the ugly sofa.

"Which?"

Damn. He'd hoped that the conversation wouldn't require any more...well, conversation. Ianto shifted awkwardly. "The one regarding...stress."

The Captain—Jack. Christ, if they were going to be doing this, he couldn't keep thinking of him that way. It felt _wrong_, somehow—slid closer, until their legs were touching. Ianto felt a stab of fear in the back of his mind, telling him all at once how very badly this could go. Anything could happen from here on out. He could lose his job. He could be humiliated. He could be...obligated to do..._things_ he wasn't comfortable with.

But Jack's voice was quiet and calming. "And you're feeling stressed?"

"Yes."

Jack nodded, the picture of self-control. "Lean back and close your eyes."

He let out a shaky breath and slumped back He was trying hard to control the trembling that had taken hold of his entire body, but with his eyes closed, it was impossible.

Ianto jumped slightly when he felt fingers tugging at his belt. Jack's touch was surprisingly gentle but insistent, then warm. The air in the Hub was cool around his still-soft cock and he worried for a moment that things wouldn't go any further. Even as he started to become convinced he'd made a horrible, embarrassing mistake, Jack squeezed and stroked the insecurity away.

It struck Ianto how very _different_ it felt. Lisa's hands were—are—soft and small. Her touch was always delicate, almost hesitant. His own hand, though larger, was still smooth. But Jack—Jack's hands were strong and calloused. Ianto felt himself respond and his hips hitched into the grasp of their own accord.

The more he focused on it, the more the rough friction against his cock drove him wild. Jack was clearly someone who knew exactly what he was doing. His grip was confident and firm, kneading and stroking in a steady rhythm.

Ianto gave himself up to it, letting the other man's spicy scent invade his senses and rocking into his touch. A throaty moan escaped him when Jack's thumb caught a drop of precome and spread it along his length.

Jack quickened his pace and Ianto knew the entire thing would be over embarrassingly soon. It was too much and it had been too long. He balled his fists into the soft wool of his trousers, desperate to make the feeling last just a little longer even as he felt the beginnings of his orgasm rise up in him. He wasn't ready to trade the simple, unthinking pleasure for the embarrassment and responsibilities that waited for him.

Ready or not, he came with a shout that filled the Hub.

Ianto, heart pounding, sat stock still with his eyes squeezed shut. He trampled down the uneasiness that threatened to return. He told himself, even as Jack gently tucked him back into his pants and fastened his trousers, that his boss was a _professional_ and a _gentleman_. There was no reason to brace himself for a humiliating, emasculating comment. It was _normal_, just stress-relief.

And he did feel better. The coil of fear at the pit of his stomach had unwound itself. He felt more relaxed than he had in weeks, perhaps months.

He opened his eyes to find Jack running a handkerchief over his palm.

"Better?"

Ianto nodded and gestured helplessly at Jack's lap. "Do you want...?"

The older man smiled, his shiny, perfect teeth catching the dim light. "I'm good, thanks," he said, knocking his shoulder playfully against Ianto's. "You oughta go catch some sleep while you can, I've got a feeling tomorrow's gonna be a busy day."

~.~.~

As the days passed, Ianto realized there was definitely something to Jack's foxhole philosophy. He wasn't sure when the secret to contentment became a handjob and a good night's rest, but that's what it boiled down to.

The situation hadn't changed, of course. Lisa was still...ill and he was still lying with every other word he spoke, but the release was just...beautiful. He no longer worried that he'd have a heart attack at any moment or that he'd be unable to find more pain medicine when Lisa ran out. He could _think_ properly again, plan his next move rationally. Jack had given him a gift.

Neither man mentioned the incident nor had there been any encores, but Ianto began to pay more attention to his boss. He couldn't quite explain it—and considering the way he was betraying Jack for Lisa, he certainly couldn't justify it—but he couldn't get around the urge to look after Jack in whatever small ways he could.

He ordered whatever lunch Jack suggested, regardless of the ensuing conversation of "_We've_ _had pizza four times this week, Harkness. Give it a rest_."

He delivered Jaffa Cakes along with his afternoon coffee after Suzie had been moaning—again—about Jack's refusal to allow her to use deceased Torchwood operatives to test out her glove.

He even took to doing Jack's post-mission paperwork then leaving them stacked neatly on the Captain's desk next to the weird heat lamp, riddled with "Sign here!" post-it notes.

Ianto didn't think about it, just as he didn't think about how unusual it was for him to spend _so much_ time stealing glances at another man's hands.

So when Jack appeared one evening in Ianto's little office in the Archives, looking like a man carrying the weight of world on his shoulders, something twisted in Ianto's gut.

"Busy?"

Ianto put away the paperwork he was working on—forged order forms for oxycodone—and smiled sheepishly. "No, sir," he said. "Just finishing up for the night."

Jack stepped towards the desk, picking up a bulldog clip. He fiddled with it, closing it around his thumb. "There were three civilian casualties today. Owen's got 'em on coolin' in Autopsy storage."

He nodded, wondering what kind of shape the bodies would be in after encountering something like a Hoix. He'd already used the car accident cover twice this month. Maybe an explosion of some sort… "I'll take care of it right away, sir."

"No need," Jack said, setting the clip back down. "They'll still be there in the morning. I…I actually wanted to talk to you about something else."

Ianto trampled down the moment of surprised panic—after all, if Lisa had been discovered, surely there would be a gun pointed in his direction?

"I…well, I could use a hand."

He straightened. "Weevils, again?"

Jack shook his head sharply, his blue eyes intense. "No, Ianto. A _hand_."

_Oh_. "Of course. Is…is here alright?"

The Captain smiled, one of the rare, genuine smiles that reached his eyes. Ianto rolled his chair backwards and let his boss sit on the organized surface of his desk.

He set about unbuckling Jack's belt, ignoring the trembling of his fingers and the rushing in his ears, but Jack caught his wrists.

When he spoke, his normally brash American accent was breathy and stilted, but his eyes were closed and his handsome face was passive. "This is not a job requirement. You will not be sacked if you kick me out right now."

After another moment, the grip eased and fell away. Ianto slid the black leather from the buckle, the button from its hole. He was glad Jack kept his eyes closed. He wasn't sure his bravado and sense of fair play would carry him this far with those piercing blue eyes fixed on him.

Jack's breath hitched as Ianto drew down the zip and the sound went straight to Ianto's cock. He told himself, even as he wrapped his fingers around Jack's hard length, that it was the taboo, the rush of doing something new that was arousing him so much—No, not Jack himself. Not the thought of making Jack pant with need. Not the fantasy of Jack moaning his name when he came.

Ianto had thought of this. He'd wondered what it would feel like to touch him this way since that night on the sofa. He'd imagined that he'd be able to remain clinical and mature. In his own mind, he'd handle the other man's cock with a mild detachment…not distasteful, really, but certainly not thrilling.

How wrong he'd been.

Jack's cock was rock hard but delightfully pliant. He could feel the rushing of Jack's blood with every stroke of his palm just as clearly as he could feel his own heart thrumming in his chest.

He found himself staring, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Jack was…was _magnificent_. He could be in women's magazines, for Christ's sake. His cock was as long as Ianto's own, but thicker and as tan as the rest of him. There was no dark, coarse hair to interrupt the smooth rhythm and the gentle upwards arch of the length fit into his palm perfectly.

Jack was practically a bronzed god perched on the desk and Ianto was as turned on as he could remember being.

A quiet gasp drew his eyes to Jack's face. His lips were parted, his breath coming in small, eager pants. It struck Ianto how very vulnerable his boss looked. Jack wasn't hiding behind his flirty smiles, his confident leers or his intense authority. He was just Jack, open and exposed while he clutched the edge of Ianto's desk and neared his orgasm.

It did nothing to lessen the pressure of his own cock straining against his trousers.

Determined not to come in his pants like an overexcited teenager, Ianto quickens the movement of his hand, seeking to increase the friction as he pumped from root to tip.

The panting came harder and the keening whimpers filled the air with frantic tension. Ianto suddenly wanted to break the Captain's control, make his moans bounce off the concrete walls of his office. He changed the angle of his palm, twisting around the slick head of Jack's hard cock.

With only a grunt and the clenching of his fingers on the desk as warning, Jack was coming, twitching and shooting thick tendrils of come into Ianto's palm. He opened his eyes and smiled lazily.

Ianto wiped his hand with the rag he used for clearing dust and grime from artifacts while Jack straightened up his clothing. He sent a silent prayer that his own ridiculous erection would go unnoticed.

"You've got a little something…" Jack said, swiping his thumb along Ianto's jawline. "There. All better."

They both looked at the come glistening on the pad of Jack's thumb, and Ianto's eyes followed its movement right into Jack's mouth.

Jack winked playfully and left without a word.

~.~.~

Ianto leaned back against the desk in the Tourist Centre and tucked in his shirt. He rolled his eyes at Jack's smug smile.

They'd been doing this for nearly two months now, this clandestine pseudo-friends-with-benefits arrangement and it always left him calm and sated. They'd fallen into a schedule of sorts, finding one another in the darkness of the Archives or when the others had gone for the night.

Ianto knew that without this release, he'd never have been able to cope with the demands that caring for Lisa put on him. Especially not with the demands his job added.

He genuinely hoped, even as he lied and deceived everyone around him, that Jack was as satisfied.

Ianto still felt guilty, still worried would Lisa would think if she knew. He'd tried, briefly, to pretend he didn't need it. He told himself there wasn't anything he was getting from Jack that he couldn't do for himself, but as the days wore on and the stress became nearly unbearable, he buried the guilt as best he could.

"Why does this work?" Ianto blurted, before he could stop himself.

"I'd have figured you could figure it out on your own. See, there's friction and…" Jack laughed.

Ianto whacked him on the arm and rolled his eyes. "I know how _that_ works, you wanker. I mean…well, we don't do anything that we couldn't…y'know, take care of ourselves, do we?"

"That's sort of the point."

He let his baleful glare ask the question for him.

"I know what the others think of me, that I'm all about the sex," the Captain started with a sad smile. "But they're wrong. It's so much simpler than that. Sometimes…all we really need is the touch of another human being.

~.~.~

A/N: Special gratitude to **FaceOfMer/Janto321 **for her time. She very kindly played sounding board for me. Bulldog clips, the thing on Ianto's desk that Ianto fidgeted with, are also called binder clips, depending on where you live. Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I still don't own Torchwood or our boys.

~.~.~

They sat together on the platform for the invisible lift, Ianto's fist pumping quickly on Jack's cock. The sharp odour of bleach covered up whatever not-aftershave Jack wore and, thank God, the scent of the blood Ianto had been scrubbing off the pavement.

Not for the first time, he wondered what the hell kind of job this was supposed to be.

Suzie was dead. Ianto had thought her to be a bit mad, really, but still, she was young, intelligent and polite. She knew things about the universe few people ever would. They—all of them at Torchwood—were part of a select club, filled with the addictive lures of mystery and adrenaline.

Like all addictions, it would kill each of them eventually. The toxicity of Torchwood had already reached its cold hands into his life. Nearly eight hundred of his friends and co-workers were dead, his girlfriend was in constant agony and his dreams were filled with scream and the putrid scent of hot metal and charred flesh.

And now, Suzie was dead. There were bits of her brains drying out behind them that were going to take _hours_ to get off the concrete. He didn't know how he was going to get through it without vomiting.

Ianto pushed the thought away from his mind and focused on the man he was touching.

He'd never admit it, but his heart ached for the Captain. Ianto felt shell-shocked and overwhelmed, yes, but Jack _knew_ Suzie. They were friends, or some reasonable facsimile of it. They'd worked together for years.

Jack had come to him after it was all said and done, beaten and weary, like a man drowning in the shroud of death.

For all the desperate, needy moans escaping from behind Jack's clenched teeth, he looked to be in agony. His face was flushed and sweaty. His eyes were squeezed shut.

With a painful lurch in his gut, Ianto realized that he just couldn't do this. He was already betraying Jack for Lisa—something that tore him up inside, no matter how necessary it was. But this—_this_...it felt too much like taking advantage. It was too much like kicking Jack while he was down. He pulled his hand away with a sigh.

"Sir, I don't think—"

"No," Jack pleaded, voice rough. "Keep going. Please."

Ianto didn't know what to do, but when Jack pulled on his wrist and whispered "_Please_," he reasoned that the Captain knew what he needed.

And, as a sneaky voice inside reminded him, touching Jack was no chore.

Jack didn't lessen his grip on Ianto's wrist and used it to force him into a frenzied pace. He pushed away all the guilt, all the doubt, and simply observed.

He reckoned Jack was never more handsome than when he was falling apart. There were nights he actually preferred to wait for the other man, rather than seek him out. There was just something about it, something profound, in seeing the cheeky grins and the hard, commanding persona just melt away. He'd grown to love Jack's panting, hedonistic neediness.

It turned him on. It was only the other man's probably vacant gaze on his face that stopped Ianto from rubbing himself through his trousers.

Jack was on the edge, riding his own frantic tempo like a wave. His fingernails were digging into Ianto's skin. He'd almost certainly bruise, but he couldn't find it in him to care—not when that low, throaty mewl was filling his ears. Jack was rocking, just slightly. Closer, then away.

Closer...but not away.

And then Jack's lips were on his own, firm and demanding. They were nothing like Ianto had imagined, nothing like Lisa's softer, smoother ones, but _god_, they were so warm and the feel of stubble-on-stubble was strangely erotic.

Ianto parted his lips just as Jack gasped, and caught the Captain's lower lip between his teeth to draw it into a moan. He knew his suit was being covered in the other man's come, but for once, he didn't care. All he cared about was the feeling of those lips on his own, of how Jack's soft, short hair felt against his palm.

Of Jack's fingers working at his fly until he felt the cool, damp air of the Hub on his cock.

After another moment of feverish snogging, Jack pulled away and shifted. Ianto had barely registered the movement when the chilly air was replaced by the hot, wet heat of Jack's mouth.

"Oh, _fuck_."

It took everything he had not to come within that first, shocking moment. Jack didn't move...well, he didn't move his _head_, but his tongue was like fire—tasting, lapping and massaging at his cock—burning all coherent thought from his mind.

Jack was _glorious_—not just with his tongue, but just _looking_ at him was one of the most erotic things Ianto had ever seen. He was on his knees. Jack—powerful, dangerous Jack—was kneeling at his feet with his handsome face so serene, it was almost euphoric. Ianto tangled one of his hands in Jack's braces and used the other to steady himself on the paver.

His tongue never stilled, never stopped it's exploration of each centimetre of Ianto's flesh. It was too intense, too soon, too _much_—

It was short—embarrassingly short—but to Ianto, it felt like an eternity before his orgasm was yanked from him in one hard, powerful pull.

When he came down, he felt Jack's shaking, his head buried in Ianto's wool-clad thigh. He thought for a moment that he was laughing—the hysterical, awkward type of laughter that simply couldn't be contained—but then a horrible, broken sound reached his ears.

Jack was crying.

Jack was _sobbing_.

Ianto froze, completely unsure of what to do. He wanted to comfort Jack, of course he did—wasn't that the point of this whole situation?—but he was suddenly struck with the absurdity of the situation. They were on a huge concrete paver that rose up through the ceiling to the street above. His trousers were undone, covered in his employer's semen and his flaccid cock was still completely exposed and coated in saliva. And, to top it all off, he had a strong, sickening suspicion that he'd put his hand in a bit of Suzie's brain when he came.

Jack shuddered pitifully and Ianto rested his clean hand on the other man's broad shoulder. He wouldn't murmur any whispered platitudes, no soft _everything will be alright_. There were enough lies between them, but it didn't mean he couldn't offer Jack a small measure of comfort.

"She's dead," he sobbed. "She's dead and it's all my fault."

"It isn't anyone's fault but her own," Ianto answered, rubbing slow circles onto Jack's back. "It's tragic and it's sad. But it was her own doing.'

The Captain sniffled against his leg. "It was the glove. She was my responsibility. I shoulda watched her better."

Ianto didn't know what to say. He could hardly say _Well, she _was_ behaving very oddly, so maybe being a tad more observant in the future will help you out_. The very last thing he needed was a more observant Jack Harkness.

"We are all responsible for our own actions, Jack. You're not our keeper."

Jack nodded—quite possibly rubbing snot onto Ianto—but remained where he was, trembling. Ianto ran his fingers through the other man's hair and let him cry it out.

~.~.~

As the days wore on, Jack sought him out more and more, but asked for less and less. Oh, there was still _that_ element—and it was...more intense now that they didn't limit themselves to a friendly handshake, if Ianto was being perfectly honest—but Jack was more likely to lounge in the Archives for a chat or to steal a kiss in the Tourist Office.

He seemed to just want company in between stints as the Batman of Cardiff.

Ianto spent sleepless hours convincing himself that it didn't matter. They weren't _lovers_. They weren't even mates.

It didn't matter what kind of amazing stories Jack told of a blue girl in the Orion galaxy. It didn't matter that Jack made him forget the horrible, consuming fear in those stolen moments, or how Jack's cock felt rubbing against his own. None of it mattered.

_Lisa_ mattered. Lisa, who would press her cold feet against his calves while he slept and then teased him for yelping. Lisa, who danced on their sofa in her panties just to make him laugh.

Lisa, who would be his wife when all this madness was behind them.

With a sigh, Ianto finished collecting the rubbish from the various workstations. He stole a glance up to Jack's office. The Captain was sitting with the new girl. Laughing. Flirting.

He wondered if Jack had a similar arrangement with Gwen—she _was_ quite fit. They'd look lovely pressed against each other, all passion and shiny teeth.

He hated himself for the jealousy that bubbled up in him. He gave up with the never-ending mess—and really, there were only five of them, how could they possibly be this slovenly?—to wind his way down the dark, twisting corridors of the Hub.

Lisa was, of course, where he'd left her, attached to that horrible metal cage. Her dark brown eyes were wet with unshed tears.

"It...hurts..."she whimpered. He wasted no time giving her an injection, holding her hand as it took effect. Her eyes drifted closed and a single tear slid down her lovely face.

"Don't worry, darling. Dr Tanizaki will be here tomorrow and then all of this will be over."

~.~.~

A/N: In case you were interested, the bit about dried brains is true. Crime scene cleaners have to use putty knives to get it off.

As with the last chapter, **FaceOfMer/Janto321 **was a valuable asset. She motivated me with word wars and was a fantastic sounding board.

Thank you for reading!


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